Ironic
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "His arms are crossed over his chest, his head tilted back; there's no trace of embarrassment anywhere in his expression for having stalled out his fight with Sweet Mask for the sake of getting an autograph." Metal Bat gets an autograph for his sister and Sweet Mask gives him something for himself. Metal BatxSweet Mask.


"Incredible," Sweet Mask says without looking up from the autograph sheet in front of him. "I thought you were in the middle of threatening to hit me in the face?"

"'S different," Metal Bat says. His arms are crossed over his chest, his head tilted back; there's no trace of embarrassment anywhere in his expression for having stalled out their fight for the sake of getting an autograph. "It's for my sister."

"And that explains everything," Sweet Mask drawls, rolling the words into a mockery that Metal Bat either doesn't hear or deliberately ignores.

"Yeah." He extends his hand, the gesture sharp with expectation. "Ain't you done yet?"

"Please," Sweet Mask says, looking back down at the sheet as he pulls a pen out of his pocket. "I'm doing you a favor, the least you could do is show a little gratitude. Don't you need this to buy your darling sister's forgiveness?"

" _No_ ," Metal Bat says, the force behind the word weighted with sincerity instead of defensiveness. "I screwed up, I gotta be there for her next time to make it up. This-" his chin jerks to indicate the autograph sheet in Sweet Mask's hands, the half-formed signature in dark ink on it. "Is just a present."

"Is it her birthday or something?" Sweet Mask asks. He sweeps the pen across the paper, lets the ink saturate the surface to form the familiar loops and angles of his autograph.

"Nah." Metal Bat shakes his head. "She just asked for it."

"Aren't you a devoted brother," Sweet Mask says. He drags through the last of the signature, pulls the pen back and offers the sheet at a careless angle. "There. All yours."

"Thanks," Metal Bat says, the gratitude coming as instantly as his aggression did earlier. When he takes the sheet he braces it in both hands, framing the shape of it like it's something precious. "She'll be real happy."

"It's ironic, isn't it?" Sweet Mask asks, because he should be leaving, he should be gone already, but Metal Bat is looking at the square in his hands like it's something precious and he can't quite get himself to turn away from the simple delight in the other's expression. "You hate me and your sister wants my autograph."

"It ain't that ironic," Metal Bat says, still looking at the sheet and not at Sweet Mask's face. "She's her own person, she's got her own tastes. 'S not up to me to tell her who to like."

Sweet Mask's smile is bitter on his lips. "How open-minded of you."

Metal Bat shrugs. "Any bro would do the same." He tucks the sheet under his arm, looks back up to meet Sweet Mask's stare. "Ain't you got somewhere to be?"

"Of course I do," Sweet Mask says, and he doesn't move. "The autograph is for your sister. Don't you want anything for yourself?"

Metal Bat's eyebrows draw together, his head tilting to confusion. "Huh?" He looks perplexed, like he's thinking about getting angry in the face of something he doesn't understand. "Nah. 'Less you wanna take back what you said 'bout me being garbage."

"Hm." Sweet Mask makes a show of considering this offer. "I refuse."

"Then no," Metal Bat growls. "We can fight it out later, I gotta get this home before it gets rained on."

"Wait," Sweet Mask says, snapping the word into the most commanding tone he can strike. It will be enough to get resistance from Metal Bat in a minute, the authority and the assumption of it both antithetical to his very existence, but for a moment it's enough, and a moment is all Sweet Mask needs. He moves fast, before Metal Bat has a chance to react or to swing his weapon free, stepping across the rubble between them in two quick strides to span the gap as he reaches out to catch his hand against Metal Bat's shoulder and push up into the weight of his styled hair. Metal Bat jerks back in an instinctive retreat from the sudden approach, but Sweet Mask's hold is hard against the back of his head, and all he needs is a moment. He leans in close, cutting right past the edge of reasonable personal space, as if he's angling for the aggressive posturing Metal Bat favors to start a fight; and then he tips his head, and keeps coming, and presses his mouth to the other's.

Metal Bat stiffens, his whole body tensing with the contact, but Sweet Mask doesn't pull away, just shuts his eyes to the dark of close-up hair so he can focus instead on the shocked resistance of Metal Bat's lips against his. There's dust in the air and caught between their mouths; Sweet Mask can taste it on his tongue, can feel it catch in the back of his throat when he breathes, but mostly there's just the resistance, the edge of Metal Bat's mouth uncompromising against Sweet Mask's. He has to be softer in comparison, has to smooth out the shift of his lips to match, to draw them into something closer to an actual kiss, and even then Metal Bat doesn't ease, just stays still and shocked until Sweet Mask draws back to lick the texture of the other's lips off his own.

"That's for you," he says, his pulse coming desperate in his throat and his skin flushing warm instead of the porcelain-cool he usually feels. "Not for your sister."

Metal Bat stares at him. Sweet Mask isn't sure he's blinked, isn't sure he's actually remembering to breathe. There's just shock across his face, so clear and so complete that the anger Sweet Mask usually sees in his expression is entirely eclipsed into surprise. It makes Sweet Mask smile, the expression picking up an edge far closer to vicious than any of the carefully polished reactions he gives for the camera as he lets his hold ease, shifts his hand into a point of contact instead of an unbreakable wall to hold Metal Bat in place.

"Tell her I hope she likes the autograph," he says. Metal Bat is still staring at him, his eyes so wide Sweet Mask can see the depth of color under the dark of them; the temptation is too strong, the part of his lips too startled-soft to stay away from. Sweet Mask leans in again, catches Metal Bat's mouth with his for another heartbeat; there's a press of friction, a drag of warmth, and then he pulls away entirely, slides his hand free as he draws back and steps over the rubble behind him without looking. He lifts his hand to offer a mocking peace sign, complete with a quirk of his mouth that could only very generously be called a smile, and then he turns, twisting on his heel to stride away before Metal Bat can find words for the confusion flickering visibly in his stare.

With his back turned, Sweet Mask's shoulders give him the cover to press his fingers to his mouth, to catch the heat - and responsive softness - of the second kiss into his memory.


End file.
